The Night Nurse told me some of the people here write how they came to be at The Facility, and I thought, why not? Before I dropped out of college, I daydreamed of being a famous writer. It didn’t happen, obviously, but this I can do.

I’d just started my sophomore year when the unthinkable happened. Matt and I got married over Winter Break and named the baby after our maternal grandfathers. Matt graduated and got a fairly good job. We had a second baby—on purpose, paternal grandfather names—and a third, all before I was twenty-four. When they’re little, you’re too exhausted for sex. Later, it’s hard to get into it when you have teenagers who stay up later than you do, and whose hearing is excellent despite loud music on earbuds.

We were still fairly young when we had an empty nest and three kids in college. We agreed how was the time to rekindle our sex life. “At least it’s free,” Matt joked.

One evening we treated ourselves to a nice dinner at home, with a tablecloth, candles, soft music, cocktails before, and wine with. Matt carried the bottle to the living room, where the conversation became frank in a way that’s rare even for happily married people. Matt shared that he looked at porn, and I faked a huge yawn indicating I was not impressed. “Who doesn’t?”

He grinned then added, “A lot of it is spanking porn. Nothing too brutal.”

“Same here.” With the lassaiz faire attitude of the drunk, I shared a lewd smile before I laid myself across his lap. “Come on, spank me.”

He gave me a little swat.

“No. Really spank me.”

Harder.

“Better, except for all these clothes.” I helped Matt raise my skirt. I’d been hoping for a little romance after dinner, so I had on nice lingerie, the black panties sheer and lacy. “Now give me a good spanking. Really.”

His hesitation drifted away once he got started, and soon he pulled my panties down and slapped my bare bottom until it stung.

Was it all the wine? Because it hurt good. No, it hurt wonderfully! I was drenched where it counted, desperate for touch, for sex, for more spanking. I squirmed in pleasure like a dog being scratched just right, until the sting got too close to being a burn. “That’s enough. Let’s do it, right here.” We never had sex in this house anywhere but the bedroom, with the door closed even though we were home alone.

“I’ll say when it’s enough,” Matt said, all stern, “and when and where I’ll fuck you, too.” He spanked me even harder for a minute. “Now we’re done. You don’t get any loving until you stand in the corner with your spanked ass on display for five minutes. Use the time to think about what’s coming.”

With pleasure! I chose a corner and put myself in it, my skirt hitched up, my sexy panties falling from thighs all the way to my ankles. Behind me, the kitchen timer made its familiar ratcheting sound.

“Nice. The other porn I look at,” Matt told my hot bottom, “is the same kind of thing but a step or two further. What happens to naughty girls, or rather, women pretending to be naughty girls. Spanking is the tip of the iceberg. They get paddled, strapped, or caned when they’re really naughty. A plug put in their ass to remind them who’s boss.”

“Do you have a plug, boss?” At that moment, I’d have let him.

“No, but I’m going to get one. Several. If ever an ass needed a spanking and a plug, it’s the one I’m looking at.”

“This is exciting, Matt.”

“Sir. I’m sir when we’re playing this way.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

“If you forget, I’ll have to spank you.”

It was after three when we finally went to bed. My bottom was swollen and too warm, my pussy tender from a good long fucking, and my anus sore. Plus we were now low on olive oil and completely out of the parsnips and carrots I needed for roasted root vegetables tomorrow night.

#

Matt liked to pick up the free alternative newspaper. Most of it was of little interest, but the personals ads made it worthwhile. He read to me. “Married couple into kink would like to socialize with same. We hope to meet people like us for coffee and dessert and get acquainted. No pressure for more.” He looked at me with uncommon frankness. “What do you think, should we call them?”

“Right.”

“You don’t want to meet people who like what you like? That doesn’t seem to apply to your book club.”

“You were serious?”

“Hell, yes. Why not?”

So we met Roy and Helen at a nice restaurant specializing in European desserts. Over meringue torte, lavender crème brûlée, apricot tart, and raspberry cheesecake, we delicately explored our interests and found them quite similar, although Roy regularly paddled Helen, more than I could handle.

She laughed. “You’re relatively new to this? I remember that stage. It’s like being a little kid—we raised two girls—when it’s all new and amazing. You get a little jaded and start wanting things to be a little more extreme. Not to the point of damage, but sometimes I have some bruises or marks. It’s fine.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “It’s hot!”

The following weekend we met them again, this time for dinner, and we went to their house. It was large and very nice. “Maybe we can get something like this once everybody’s out of college,” Matt said with a laugh.

We had some wine and talked more about our shared interest. Helen was first to propose something beyond that. “I’ve had enough of this nice cabernet to invite you to see our playroom. Right this way.”

She led us to a finished basement, furnished in a rustic theme perfect for casual entertaining. “Do you play pool?” Roy asked us.

Matt eyed the green felted table. “Not since I was single, but I was pretty good once.”

“We’ll play a few games some time, then. Neither of us is very good at it, and the maximum bet is a quarter. I once made a dollar fifty!” We all laughed. “The bar’s stocked, by the way. Get you something?”

“I wouldn’t say no to more wine,” I said.

While Roy poured, I looked around. The walls were busy with rural prints and paraphernalia. Several game tables had wooden chairs, a big-screen television faced overstuffed sofas and chairs with a few ottomans, and both ends of the large room featured sliding barn doors. Roy gestured to one as he handed me a fresh glass of cab. “We hide the water heater, furnace, and sump pump back there. Although the pump’s pretty entertaining to watch after a big rain.” He laughed.

Helen rolled back the door at the other end. This room was also country-themed, but its decor was decidedly adult. I noted a folding screen behind which a person could undress. A wrought iron bed. A sturdy wooden chair. A large mirror on a floor stand. A sawhorse with a padded top. A fussy Victorian settee that might seat two. Period art prints of women tied up, their bottoms tinted too red. Roy opened the big armoire on one wall, revealing an array of paddles and straps on the inside of its doors. I couldn’t tell what was on its shelves.

“Roy and I were thinking you might enjoy a demo. You don’t have to do anything yourselves, of course, and you’re perfectly free to say no. But we really hope you’ll say yes.” She smiled brightly. “We like to show off a little.”

“That’s because she needs her butt spanked,” Roy said, then leaned in to share in a loud whisper, “I think she likes it!”.

“I believe I know the right man for the job,” Matt added. “We’d be happy to watch.” We took our places on the settee.

“Oh, good,” Helen said, stepping behind the folding screen. Just like in a Western, her clothes appeared one item at a time, laid over its top. She came out in heels, a deep pink corset, and what appeared to be a thin white skirt gathered at her waist, through which her pubic hair showed plainly.

“Helen sews,” Roy explained. “She makes these special punishment pantaloons, and when we go out, I sometimes order her to wear them. She knows what’s coming when we get home. Don’t you, dear?”

“It’s so distracting, and it really changes what I can wear. I hope I wasn’t rude over dinner. It was all I could think about.” She looked down at her clothing. “They’re patterned after real split-leg bloomers, which made using the chamber pot in your hoop skirt possible.”

“Do you need the chamber pot, my dear?”

“No, sir. Let’s go basic, over the back of the chair.” She turned it so her bottom would face us, then reached behind herself, widening the split seat of the pantaloons to expose her entire bottom.

He strapped her, the end of the leather landing in a different spot with each stroke, until she yelped. Her shaved pussy was wet, her bottom welted scarlet.

“Well?” Roy asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Roy said to us, “She came. Just from that. Are we finished, then, my blushing peach?”

“No, sir. We’re finished when you say we are.”

Roy applied the strap to Helen’s bottom some more, then unzipped. We couldn’t really see, but it was obvious he’d penetrated her and that she loved it.

When they finished, Matt took my hand and led me to the chair, which he turned around. He spanked me through my skirt, then on the seat of my tights, then panties, and finally on my bare bottom, until I kicked like the naughty child we pretended I was. “Come close if you want to see better,” he invited, and waited until they had before he fucked me.

The play group was born.

#

Years later, the four of us still formed the core of our group, although it outgrew basement rec rooms. Forty-four people were on its email list, but events drew no more than twenty-five or thirty. We were lucky to have a lawyer and a law enforcement officer; everyone knew what was okay and what was not, signing a contract to prove it, and the very few times anyone caused trouble, they were ejected with ease and could make a written appeal for reinstatement after six months.

Often our group shared a pot luck dinner before the play party began, talking about our mutual interest and everything else.

“I’ve seen rumors online for years,” Diana said. “There’s a place called The Facility where they do this as a lifestyle. Do you think it’s true?”

“I’ve heard of it,” Ted agreed. “But not where it is.”

“Somewhere where it snows. I remember someone who’d been sent to—Punishment? Chastisement? Something like that. Anyway, the person who beat their ass told them to make a compress out of snow.”

Helen said, “Could this be something in a book? Or one of those online porn sites?”

“You know what they say about something that sounds too good to be true,” Aaron said.

Matt said, “But we still get to wish it’s real. Because I would love to take my wife there for vacation.”

Roy added, “I would love to take my wife there and retire!”

It came up again a few months later, and several more times, but no one had any actual information—until someone contacted Roy.

“The darnedest thing happened this week,” he began over dinner. We’d been able to rent the ski lodge; nights were cold, but days were above freezing. “I got an email from a man who said he had a letter of introduction from The Facility, and could we meet for lunch in a public place to see if that would be enough to let him observe our next event.”

“Was he handsome?” Diana asked. She would.

Roy ignored her question. “The letter seemed genuine. Letterhead with a logo but no address, heavy bond paper, and written with—get this—a typewriter! Apparently The Facility doesn’t use computers for anything, and no phones are allowed except land lines. He said, ‘Nobody’s going to be hacking us. Them, I guess it is now.’ The letter introduced him as Drew, an employee of The Facility of almost a decade who’d recently left for personal reasons, and expressed a hope that we might allow him to observe our group, seeking a similar position.”

“Bent over with his ass on display?” Diana said. “We can always use more of that.”

“He worked full time in Corrections. The department that deals with discipline? We talked about that quite a bit. I paid for our lunches, big tip since we’d stayed so long, and found out where he was staying. I said I’d talk to you all.”

“You think he’s the real deal?” Helen said.

“Yes,” Roy said without hesitation. “Yes, I do. He only wants to observe, said he’ll keep his hands to himself, his fly zipped, and his mouth shut. What do you think?”

“We haven’t had a new person in ages,” I said.

“But he’d be a singleton. We’re all couples,” Matt objected.

“He doesn’t want to be a member,” Roy said. “He wants us to hire him to do for us what he did at Corrections.”

“Pay him?” Diana said.

“That’s how hiring works, yes. First things first, can I see a show of hands for whether he can observe?”

He came the next night, nicely dressed in a button-front shirt under a heavy pullover sweater and khakis. He introduced himself as Drew from Corrections. “No last name, if that’s okay.” While shaking hands, he said, “Don’t say your name. I know I’m not a blackmailer, but you don’t know me yet. You will, if I stay.”

Roy showed him a chair a little way from the action at one end of the meeting room. “You can stay there, if you prefer, or you’re welcome to come closer, so long as you don’t interfere.”

“Thanks. Just do what you’d do if I wasn’t here.”

“I’m not sure I can,” I said.

“Whoa. I should go,” Drew said. “I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“It’s not that,” I corrected, smiling at him. “It’s that we’re all incredibly curious about The Facility. Until you came, it was just a rumor.”

“That rumor was my sole means of support for a lot of years. Doesn’t get any realer than getting your W-2 for taxes.”

“What I’d like,” Mark said, “is for you to take the stage and tell us how the place works. What your job was. What other people did there. What went on during a typical day. Everything.”

Drew looked to Roy for guidance. Roy said, “Only if you’re willing.”

“Sure, I guess. I’m not used to public speaking, though.”

“We have a microphone,” Matt said. “Let me get you set up.”

Minutes later, a self-conscious Drew took the chair usually used for over-the-knee spankings. He told us about The Masters, Managers, Custodians, Nurses, Maintenance, Clients, Corrections, and Charges.

“They’re the foundation, I guess. Sex workers who’ll do kink that’s hard to find—and like it, or at least make the Client believe they do.”

“What kind of kink?” Roy prompted.

“Any kind that doesn’t damage them, I guess. I was never a Charge, but lots of the people who work there started as Charges because they’d get free job training or school after their contract was up, or even during the time they were a Charge. That’s where we get most of the maintenance people and nurses. The Charges do the custodial work. I’m not sure how it goes in the kitchen; the food’s pretty good and I think there’s got to be professionals in there, but Charges clean it every night and serve the meals.”

There were hundreds of questions and Drew answered those he could, although he wouldn’t say where The Facility was. He was pretty sure they owned the building. No idea how they kept what went on there under the radar of law enforcement. He wasn’t comfortable sharing how much he was paid, but he had a pretty sweet truck and lived in a nice apartment until he quit, and enough savings to travel seeking a job like that one. Some of the Charges were recovering alcoholics or addicts, and Drew thought there might be a front about The Facility being a very private rehab facility, but he didn’t know, really. He had no idea how they identified the clients who wanted what was so hard to find. “Maybe regular sex workers who get asked share info, for money? Just a guess.”

Finally the font of questions seemed to be exhausted—and so did the man giving the answers. Drew’s face gleamed with perspiration from the heat of the stage lights. It was unusual for someone to be there for hours with all their clothes on.

Usually Roy appointed himself the lead, but it was Matt who asked the last question. “Your letter said you were looking for a position similar to the one you had. We don’t have a facility, but we might be able to pay you per event. We’d have to put it to a vote of our members. Would you be willing to give us a demo?”

“Sure, I guess. I’d need whatever you want me to demonstrate. I don’t usually carry a paddle on me.” For the first time we saw him laugh. “And I’d need a volunteer.”

“Man or woman?” Roy offered.

“Doesn’t matter. I corrected whoever they sent, however they said. It wasn’t my job to pick who got it, or decide if it was fair. You get a volunteer and decide what they get, and I show you how I’d do it. Meanwhile, where’s the bathroom?”

Drew was gone for about ten minutes, probably giving us time to pick someone and decide what correction to order. When he returned, he carried the sweater and his flushed face was not as red and no longer damp. His hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. He stood on the stage, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up beefy forearms.

“This is Diana,” Roy said, nudging her toward the little stage. She’d volunteered, and we’d agreed unanimously; lots of us didn’t like her very much.

“Hi, Diana. You’re doing this voluntarily?”

“You bet.”

He nodded. “What is she getting?”

Roy answered. “Thirty. She’s got the paddle.”

Drew took it from her and looked at it with a critical eye, hefting it in one hand. “Not the best balance, but it’ll do.”

“If we hire you,” Roy said, “we’ll buy several of your preferred instruments. As a signing bonus.”

“They’d be mine?”

“Yes.”

Matt whispered close to my ear, “Never lets anybody forget he’s rich, does he?”

On stage, Drew’s voice was flat as he ordered Diana to take down her pants. “If that top slides down and gets in the way, we’ll go with naked.”

Without being asked, Diana took of everything except her high heels. She had the best body of any of the women and enjoyed showing it off.

Drew seemed unimpressed. He positioned her over the back of the spanking chair, directing her where to place her feet, then where to grip. “You can make all the noise you want,” he said calmly, “but you do not move. If you can’t help it, you get back in position as fast as you can.” He raised the paddle high overhead, untucking his shirt on that side to show winter-white skin.

The paddle flew down in an arc that seemed to bounce of Diana’s upturned butt. His arm was up again already; this would be fast.

Diana struggled, her slender hips in motion as if she could dodge the swats, but Drew found the sweet spot every time. He changed sides and hand every five swats. Diana squeaked in pain by the tenth, cried like a dramatic five-year-old by twenty, and howled near the end.

Only because I was close could I hear Drew. “You’re okay. It’s over and you did fine. Now we let them get a real good look at your ass.” He helped her stand straight, her back to us, Drew’s hand beneath one elbow. “No, don’t touch your face. You dizzy?”

Her butt was as red as any I’d ever seen, far redder than Drew’s overheated face, sweating anew. I didn’t see any signs of bruising.

“Okay, good. Now we turn, let everybody see how bad it hurt. That you cried and your nose ran. That’s why they have me do it, to hurt, but just for the moment. You’re strong. Two or three days, you’d go again, no problem. And I’d be happy to administer it, too.”

Roy didn’t wait for any vote. “You’re hired.”

Matt whispered, “He’d better be paying out of his own pocket, without a vote.”

“He’s rich. Let him.”

Drew said, “Events how often?”

“Every weekend except in summer. Then it’s once a month. Come talk numbers with me,” Roy said.

They huddled in back. Roy was expansive with gesture, Drew tightly controlled. Diana being Diana, she stayed naked except for those heels, wandering among us, making herself out to be either a sex kitten or a martyr, perhaps a bit of both. Matt reminded me her husband put up with her because she was the one with the money. “I bet he enjoyed seeing her paddled good.”

“I sure did.” We shared a little laugh, and he patted my ass.

Apparently Roy and Drew came to an agreement. Drew was on stage every time after that. At some members’ urging, he dressed for the role, one time an executioner, another a buccaneer, all of them stereotypes worthy of a romance book’s cover.

I saw him in town a few times, buying groceries or liquor. He was dressed for blue-collar labor, but I don’t know what he did, just that Roy didn’t pay him enough to live on. I was pleasant and neutral, even though no one paid us any particular attention. “Hi, how’s it going?”

“Oh. Hi. Fine. Just getting a few things. You?”

“Same. I have this terrible habit of crossing something off the shopping list without putting it in the cart.”

“And that doesn’t get you into trouble?” he teased.

“Hey, would you like to come to dinner sometime?”

“Ah, sure. Not on weekends, though. I usually have something going.”

“How’s next Monday night?”

Anyone watching would not have thought a thing.

Matt and I came to like Drew quite a bit. He was a quiet person, weighing his words before he spoke. He carried in his dishes and stayed to help clean the kitchen. “You’re a guest!” I protested.

“If all three of us get to work, it’ll be done in no time.”

Matt offered me to be punished at least once every weekend. Drew was amazingly skilled at making me sting, then burn, simmering for hours afterward without ever giving me a bruise or those little red pinpricks, although he gave me plenty of welts. When each play party ended, my husband and I would retreat to our room and make love for a long time then sleep like the dead, even on the beach hotel’s lumpy mattress. I often volunteered to be corrected again. “We have to give other people a chance,” Matt teased.

Drew gave me dozens of spankings and paddlings, a handful of canings, one strapping, my very first enema, then my first punishment enema, neither of which would be my last. With every correction, he could bring me to tears of pain, humiliation, and relief more easily.

We were saddened to see him go, of course, but glad the woman who’d broken his heart found him and wanted him back. True love triumphed, as it should.

But that was not how I came to be at The Facility. We kept in touch with Drew and sent him a letter painstakingly crafted on a typewriter Matt bought for this purpose, which we asked Drew to pass along to The Masters. Would The Facility consider me as a temporary Charge, treating me as any other, for a price?

That winter, instead of a Caribbean beach, I spent a week as a Charge, wearing a nightshirt often pinned up to show my beaten bottom—not by Drew but by people he’d trained who were also quite skilled—cleaned stem to stern with one enema after another by Nurse or Night Nurse, then taken to a room to service the Client who’d chosen and paid for me, in whatever way he wanted.

It was always Matt.